Le Aaah
by Algrene
Summary: Admiral Pellew invites guests over for dinner. All is going well until dueling breaks out among his visitors...Disclaimer: I own nothing, dammit! Complete


_**Note: Yeah, it's strange, but aah well. You can't help being strange when you're on a tomato high.**_

"Right." Snapped Vice Admiral Lord Sir Edward Pellew irritably, charging along down one of the many mahogany furnished corridors in his rather extensive manor, "Where is that damn hat? It was supposed to be here a full thirty seconds ago."

"I'm dreadfully sorry, sir," apologised his steward Doughty scurrying along after him, "But they sent a letter of apology in advance to express regret for the three and a half minute delay that would ensue on account of the-"

"Give that to me!" Pellew grabbed the letter and roved over it, reading aloud, "Honourable Sir, we have the greatest blah-blah-blah…that your most honourable lordship's request for a regulation navy bicorn complete with gold lace and blah-blah-blah- due to the –blah- atrocities of –blah- with the result that –blah-blah-blah- exactly three minutes and forty seconds later than expected. Blah. Yours sincerely, Mr Wheedle, company secretary of Fibb, Floggit and Scram, suppliers of enormous hats since 1690BC. Well. That just does it doesn't it. Damn their impudence, sir! Now then Doughty, do you have a list of who's coming to this damn thing anyway?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well don't just stand there like a constipated aubergine, read it, dammit."

"Well, sir. There will be Captains Luke Foster and Charlie Hammond, Captain Foster is bringing the entire crew of the _Dreadnought_, Lieutenants William Bush, Archie Kennedy, Horatio Hornblower and his wife and mother-in-law, and Anthony Bracegirdle, Midshipmen Jack Simpson and Charles Orrock, Misters Hobbs, Mathews, Oldroyd and Styles, Dr Clive of the _Renown_…"

"What? He'll drink all my best vintage wines, dammit!"

"…And majors Cotard and Lord Edrington of the army,"

"Thank-you. Now…"

"Forgive me sir…" Doughty cringed apologetically, "But I believe I hear the doorbell."

"Hh-hm. Well go and open it then."

Half an hour later, Pellew stood surrounded by a sea of happily chatting persons milling around him. His hat was undergoing some unpleasant torture in the form of being breathed on by Major Edrington's horse, whom the great lord himself was sat astride on, expostulating every few minutes with: "Ordah, ordah, look, si-silence! No, really now. Is all this noise really necessary? It is indisputably stressful towards my ponytail…". Cries of "Come back, SNOTTEY! I'm not finished with you yet!" emanated from the snack table where Simpson had built himself a little fort of cupcakes and tiny sandwiches and from where Hornblower, Bush and Archie had just tried to steal a single piece of cucumber, Mrs Mason the elder was being chased around Pellew's ballroom by young rakes, who were pelting her with vegetables and about whom Maria was pleading to Hornblower, "But look, Horrey, they're picking on my mummaah!" who didn't really seem to mind and was trying to sooth his indignant wife by cooing, "But it's always good to see fresh vegetables. The men's morale will rise when they see that.", Hammond and Foster were duelling in a corner, the _Dreadnought_'s crew had found it's way into Admiral Pellew's wine cellars, Dr Clive was discreetly swigging laudanum and Madeira alternately, Styles and Oldroyd were nowhere to be seen (which was perhaps worse than if they could be seen), Mathews had gone to look for them and the scene in Exmouth manor was generally undesirable so, all in all, Admiral's Pellew stuff-yer-face/ get drunk-in-a-corner party had turned out rather well.

"Pellier!" screamed Captain Foster from a corner of the room, "I will be forced to commandeer command of this fruit bowl if you help yourself to any more bananas!"

"Shut up, sir," answered Hammond from the corner furthest away from Foster, "Or I'll help preside over your court-marshal!"

"Wewll," snorted Foster, "It'll be a duel for us two. Again. You won't place your holy arse on any more court-marshal committees if it has a dirk up it!"

"SILENCE BOTH OF YOU, DAMMIT!" screamed Pellew right next to Foster's ear, "Or I'll ship wreck the two of you on half-pay for the rest of eternity. Together."

Silence.

"Now. That is good." Pellew waited a moment for a fly to discontinue its noisy existence, "That is better. La. Now then…"

"Sir, might I suggest this dispute be settled by a fencing match?"

Pellew thought a moment, "Capital idea, whoever it was."

"It was I, sir. And my horse Pansie." Said Edgrington.

"Mais non! Eet was I! Eet was I and mistair Boosh!" cried Cotard.

"May non it was I it was I and mister Bush, _my lord_, you mean. Anyway. It was me. As if some French dandy could possibly have come up with…"

"'Ee lies! 'Ee lies like ze reepublican vermeen zat he eez!"

"You forgot the 'my lord' again. And his boots are of French design, so how can such a…a…a…"

"Mais look at 'eem! 'Ee lies! Eez eet not true, Mistair Boosh? Mistair Boosh! You 'ave abandoned your camarade in actione! I weell 'unt you down weez mon amis and your dirty canvas bags and feelthee curtains!"

"I demand…" pronounced Edrington

"A haircut."

"Who said that?" barked Mathews.

"Wasn't me." Said Styles.

"Yaaay! Vive le roi!" cried Oldroyd.

"As I was saying, an insult like this is…"

"All you deserve."

"Who is that? If he's one of ours I'll have him flogged. As I was saying…I am challenging Major Andre Cotard…"

"To a donut eating contest."

"Shut up. To a duel."

Someone didn't agree "No no! This can all be settled by a…"

"Nice game of scrabble."

"By a fencing match?"

"Yay! Vive le roi!" Which pretty much decided it. People ran to and fro, preparing the fencing piste, masks, foils, gloves and other things. At last, there was just a cleared space with spectators gathered around the outside and Dr Clive sat drunkenly in the middle.

"Well then? What's stopping you all? Let the games begin HIC"

"You are, Dr Clive!" yelled Archie who was to be the referee, "You keep prevaricating."

"Oh, well, am I just. HIC Well what are you all staring at? Never seen a nice wig like mine? You can't have it! It was a gift from Captain Sawyer when I saw a laudanum bottle for the first time." Dr Clive sobbed and stood up tottering, "In the West Indies. And," he added, "You were never, never in the West Indies. Thank-you, everybody. Who stole my special laudanum bottle? Where is that Madeira I stole earlier?" Dr Clive danced away happily to distant cries of 'Mutiny! Mutiny! Where is my pencil?'

"Now, gentlemen. Ladies. We may…" Doughty paused, squinting down at the paper, "I can't read it! It's all smudged with ink! And pepper! STYLES!" There was then the highly entertaining spectacle of Doughty chasing Styles round the stage, Doughty screeching about, "Why can you never take some pride in doing yer duty!" and throwing French beans and Spanish fritters at Styles who tried to prove his crystal innocence: "It was a rat! 'Onist!". Oldroyd then decided it would be frightfully fun if he and Orrock joined in, and Archie decided it was time to start commentating:

"Aaand Doughty is nearly up with Styles…No, wait, Orrock is pawing at him from behind! This may well turn the tide! AND HE'S DOWN! Uproar from the crowd as Midshipman Charles Orrock is knocked to his feet! A nice blow there, lovely elbow technique on the part of James Doughty! Oldroyd is having trouble keeping up with him, and yes! Doughty positively gaining on Styles! If only he doesn't prevaricate too much…OW! That was nicely landed! Styles turns around and knocks his pursuer down…My, they'll be talking about that one for years…One to one contest now, Styles and Oldroyd of the _Indefatigable_. Styles, five times winner and fresh from the rat ring, he has beaten Oldroyd many times before, will he win? Will he do it? He throws a blow at Oldroyd…And misses! Oldroyd ducks a heavy punch from Styles…And off he goes, climbing up his lordship's painting of Admiral Lord Hood's brain. Styles chases him…But he's too heavy…scrabbles at Oldroyd…And falls! He's out! OLDROYD WIIINS!"

"Wheee Yaaay! I won! Vive le roi! I won, vive le roi, I won!"

"Thank-you. Now will someone please remove the bodies? Prrftt paaaaffhhhh…Testing, testing, This is Archie Kennedy for Admiral Pellew's Ballroom Entertainment Live. No, smoking, prevaricating, throwing rotten vegetables at Mrs Mason the Elder…"

"I thought they were fresh!" cried Hornblower indignantly.

"That's cause Styles is your cook. Major Cotard. Major Edrington. You may begin…"

Cotard charged at Major Edrington and his steed. Major Edrington and his steed charged at Cotard. They crashed unpleasantly. Cotard blinked. Major Edrington was not impressed. He said so:

"We are not impressed."

"Mais! Mais!" cried Cotard from the ground.

"May may _my lord_. Did I tell you, that I am, in fact, the Earl of Edrington? Look at him. I'm not surprised that a creature with boots like that…"

"Mais I wear ze finest bootz in all of Europe! Regarde mon beautiful calves!"

"My horse has finer calf muscles than any Frenchman."

"His Lordship The Earl of Edrington wins! Someone remove Major Cotard, please, he is prevaricating. Thank-you. Captain Foster and Cap-"

Archie was drowned out by the noise of the two Irish captains charging at each other, and of Foster's crew members.

"LAAAAH!" bawled the _Dreadnought_'s crew.

Foster's bull charge was successful, and very soon Archie was shouting:

"Congratulations to Dreadnought Foster…"

"Captain Foster." Growled Pellew.

"Winner of this evenings duel!"

Foster stood in the middle and waved his arms around screaming, "May the force be with you! May the force be with you! And without anybody who wasn't screaming my name just now."

"Right. If you would just stop prevaricating, sir, we might be able to continue…His lordship the Admiral apologises for this evening's entertainment and for the lack of alcohol, but the admiralty is currently short of money because Admiral Lord Hood had to buy himself the most portentous wig in Great Britain…"

"Now listen 'ere, young rakes. That admiralty of yours owes mah Mariah some good beverages, eh?"

"Thank-you Missus Mason…" said Bush.

"Young rakes! That's what you all are…"

"Mother, please!"

"Squandering everything! EVERYTHING! Never a show of gratitude, never so much as a single measly tomato comes my way…" she paused as some young rake in the crowd threw a rotten great tomato her way, "Not even a potato, never anything!" She ducked a potato which came flying in her direction, "An' always 'ee's"

"Marines!" bellowed Bush, "STYLES! Put Missus Mason under close arrest right now or I'll string you up by your thumbs!"

"Mah pore Mariah!"

"Doughty!"

"I can't, sir. Styles has put a peppery rat soup with extra backbones all over the chains."

"Well arrest her anyway!"

"Yes, dammit!"

"Vive le roi!"

"Vive my horse!"

"Vive mon calves!"

"Stop prevaricating!"

"Where's the laudanum?"

"…My poor Maria…My poor unfortunate belly…"

"Mother! You should be in bed! Horrey help meeeee!"

"But darling, look, going into action with your mother will raise spirits…"

"MUMMEEEEEY! Horatio's being an insensitive bastard again!"

"Yeah! A bit of bare knuckle is always good! Nothing wrong with a bit of sport, eh?" said Hobbs.

"Hornblowah! Hornblowah! C'mere so I can court marshal you!" yelled Hammond.

"Mutiny!" said Captain Sawyer.

"Vive le roi, vive le roi!"

"SNOTTEEEEEY!"

"Oh, if only the rat, la la, dum, dee, whose, la, dum deed dea, backbone I broke last yeeeeeeaaaaaaar!" sang Styles.

"Shut up Styles or I'll fire your head out of a cannon." Yelled Bush.

"LAAAA! THE RAAAAAAT!" continued Styles.

"Friendly word of advice, Styles, shut it." Mathews told him.

"You ruin everything, Styles, everything. You can never take some pride in…"

"There's a fly in the salad."

"Can we go drink Portsmouth dry now, Horation? We only drank it sort of damp last time, but I suppose we're more thirsty now."

"Ha-herm, ha-herm." Said Archie, "Now that we've all stopped prevaricating…Are there any more challengers? Gentlemen? Any challenges from the seamen?"

"Seaman? Zose creatures zat make mildew canvas bags et feelthee curtains?"

"YES!" bawled Simpson, "I challenge SNOTTEY!"

"If Mr Mason were 'ere…"

"On what grounds?"

"On, er, ah, um. He stole my cupcake when I was three. Stole it right from under my very nose. And I was three, did I tell you? He was an embryo."

"I'm afraid that is an insulting remark, Mr Simpson, with the result that I must protest. I will now protest. I protest." Said Hornblower.

"I'm sorry H'ratio." Said Bush, "But they aren't actually adequate grounds for a challenge…"

"Aww…Snottey! I'll be back! I'm not finished with you yet! Just you wait until my descendants move to Springfield!"

"Thank-you Mr Simpson. Now. Anybody else?"

"Oui! Oui! Moi! I challenge zat arze ze Marquis Mon Crouton." Cried Cotard.

"Vive le roi!"

"But I want to challenge him too!" yelled Edrington, and his horse's head bobbed in agreement.

"And me! _He _said insulting remarks to me too!" bawled Hornblower.

"I'm very sorry, gentlemen, but a very unfortunate mishap befell the afore mentioned Monsieur Colonel Marquis De Mon Crouton which prevents his attendance this evening and which caused his head to be abruptly separated from his body, which he cannot now find. In apology of his absence, he sent us his head in an envelope. He has written us a message."

"I always knew eet. I would never looze mai wonderful bodeh. Look at mah classique torso. You can never deny ze…"

"Vive le roi?"

"It says:…" Archie opened up the enormous parchment, "Le Aaah."


End file.
